


but you're crooked too, boy

by fishlette



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 22:12:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10201853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishlette/pseuds/fishlette
Summary: There must be a rot inside of me,he thinks.Or: what flashes before Alfrid's eyes at the end.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Idk idk. This is for practice.

It takes him less than a second to haul the little one out of the mud and shove her back on the wagon next to her sister. So fast he doesn't even know what he's doing but enough time for the tip of a pointy something to spear him right through the stomach. And then Alfrid's falling, falling, falling and Bard's girls are screaming, screaming, screaming.

 

* * *

 

There's a spot on the edge of the lake. A crevice between the rock and low hanging branches. Too small for him now, but some days (warm days when the sun sets low over the water in a hazy blur) he'll think of it. And if he's feeling particularly nostalgic he'll think of the other boy too.

He thinks of it now. Of the cool, water-smooth stones; willow branches tickling his shoulders. He thinks of how he'd rather die there instead of face down in muck and blood. He thinks of the other boy.

—

This is what he remembers: clumsily hobbling through the streets; scrambling across the slick-rough banks; hiding, hiding, hiding in the little hole in the ground and praying the older boys wouldn't find him.

And then one day there is Bard. Bard who punches the ring leader so hard his knuckles split open. Bard who crowds into Alfrid's hiding spot. Bard who says,  _"and that's that,"_ with an easy grin.

And they watch the sun set on the water.

—

"Why did you do that?" Alfrid remembers asking.

"Because you're my friend." Alfrid remembers Bard replying, with a fondly exasperated roll of his eyes.

_Friends._

What a lovely thought.

—

They grow up. Bard grows up. Tall. Alfrid grows hunched around himself.

He watches Bard fall in love. Watches him get married and start a family, with a cold heavy weight in his chest. An ache with a name his mother might have told him once.

He doesn't know how to catch up.

"I think he fancies you!" The pretty bride whispers.

"Oh hush you!" Bard laughs.

Alfrid looks away.

—

Working for the Master is easy. He falls into it like he used to fall into his old hiding spot.

"You can't keep doing this." Bard's knuckles are bleeding. They're sitting at the lip of the crevice on the lake. They don't fit inside anymore.

The weight in Alfrid's chest grows colder, heavier.

"What you're doing is cruel! The Master is cruel can't you see?"

"I can't!" He cries, (can't  _you_ see?)

"Then I can't defend you anymore."

Bard goes home and the ache in Alfrid's chest threatens to pierce through it.

 _There must be a rot inside of me,_ he thinks.

 

* * *

 

A rot indeed.

Alfrid's blood is dark and cold. Or maybe that's mud on his fingers, he's not sure anymore. The air is still now, quiet. The sun is setting.

The fighting must be over, he thinks. Dimly Alfrid wonders if he has enough strength to crawl across the banks. Back to his old hiding spot.

And then there is Bard. Bard who fills his blurry vision. Bard who brushes bloody knuckles over Alfrid's fevered skin. Bard who says,  _"rest well my friend,"_ with a trembling smile.

 _Friends,_ Alfrid muses, closes his eyes.

_What a lovely thought._


End file.
